Penance
by chaletfan
Summary: Following the events of Primal, Faith and Xander are apart and fighting their own battles. But you can never fight fate. Or yourself.
1. Chapter 1

**Penance**

**1**

The sound she made was small. Quiet. Totally at odds with what she felt. Her fist clenched spasmodically and she realized she was unable to stop it. She then realized her whole body was on a hairsbreadth from following it. And when she realized that she was unable to stop it happening. Her whole body was consumed by the shaking, wracking pain of what she had just witnessed.

"God," she said eventually, when her mouth was able to form the words, when her brain finally remembered what words were, "Oh my god."

She still hadn't looked at it. At the lips that had kissed her, at the hands that had held her, she hadn't – couldn't – wouldn't look at it. Him. It. It. Curtis. Curtis. He. It.

Her brain whirled with a thousand moments that she'd shared with him and then it paused and she tried to push past the image, to close her eyes and to make the pain go away but it didn't it wouldn't and she suddenly thought she'd never unsee it – that somehow she would spend the rest of her life with this – the image -

--

and then she realized she was making the noise over and over again and she wondered if she could ever stop -

"Hey," said the man. "Stop it," he said, "You're fine."

Her mouth moved.

"You know you're not actually saying anything right?" He looked amused as he wiped the blood off his sword. "But that's shock. It'll pass." There was a long, pained pause during which she tried to stand up. She failed, crumpled forward, scraped her palms on the ground, and didn't feel a thing. He moved towards her and held out a hand. "Here. Let me give you a hand. Not literally. It's just lending for the purpose of getting you up off the floor."

She felt the life pulsate through him as she stood, her legs wobbling and then straightening. "Th-thankyou," she said, her voice soft and hesitant, and then her brain remembered what had happened and she screamed for her lover.

"He's dead," said the man and he caught her and held her whilst she sobbed against him, "I'm sorry but he's been dead for a long time."

"How?" she said, when the tears finally stopped coming, "And wh-who?"

"You don't need my name," he said. Kind. Firm. Simple. "Was he your boyfriend?"

"Fiancee," she said quietly, stepping back and gasping a little for air.

"Right." The man slid his sword back into the holder that crossed his body and then twisted the strap round so it hung in between his shoulderblades. He did this all in one smooth fluid motion that made her realize he had done it many times before. She didn't know whether this comforted her or scared her. "You were going to get married?"

She nodded. Held the image of what-would-have-been in her head.

"He'd have eaten you," said the man. "Sorry. The thing inside him was a demon. A – a nasty. Like from Monsters Inc. but without the sing-along-a cuteness. Your fiancée – " He paused and lifted his hand up to her, resting it gently on her arm. "I'm sorry – what was his name?"

"Curtis," she said, "Curtis James Mortimer."

"I should have asked that earlier. Sorry. It's right to know his name. Everyone's a somebody. Curtis. Your boy. Your man. It killed him a long time ago. The demon. A Kraytok demon to be exact about this but I guess that only matters if you've got a library at home and want to look him up and man I do miss that place but –" He stopped himself. "Curtis James Mortimer was a brave man. This wasn't him. Go home. Remember the man you loved. And live your life for him."

She stared at him with wonder. He smiled. "Go." She looked at the remains of the demon and then back at him and, as if a switch had been flicked inside her, she blizzard-span down the alley and back towards the light of the city.

And when she went, he fell to his knees and stared at the mess in the alleyway and he said one word, the word that had brought him here, the word that had sent him on this quest of penance, the word that was his goal, his life, his reason: "Faith."


	2. Chapter 2

A few thousand miles away, at the exact same time, a woman sat down in front of a mirror and began to brush her hair. Behind her, on a bed made with grey sheets, lay the body of a once-had-been man.

The woman's hand shook a little and she took the moment to hold it steady, to count to ten and push the killer-feeling away. She was a Slayer. This was her job. Didn't make it any easier, didn't make the bile in her throat disappear, didn't make the feeling of self-hate dissipate. It didn't get her through this. Not when the darkness defined her like this. Never had. Never would.

And then she looked at the girl, glassy-eyed and rigid, the girl who had called out in pain and fear and by doing so had caused all this to begin. Faith felt a sudden flare of hatred towards her and her fist balled and then uncurled. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She'd not wanted to come back to this, she'd been fine ignoring the Slayer call, making a life of sorts – a life – and - and then some dumb ass bitch had to go spoil it? Made her so fucking mad-

No, she said to herself, no, and the pain and the rage and the awful awful anger bubbled back down. She glanced again at the girl. Young. Oh god she was so young.

"What's your name?" said Faith. She curled a strand of her hair around her fingertips, restoring the vestiges of normality about her person. Rooting herself in the banality of normality.

The girl didn't move.

"Hey," said Faith, a little blunter now, "Aint nobody else in the room but you and me and I'd kinda like an answer."

"Ruth," replied the girl. She lifted up her finger and pointed at the body on the bed, "Wh-what?"

"You're gonna have to give me a little bit more than that Ruth." She was this far from walking out but the girl needed to crack a sanity pill right the hell now. "You okay? No bleeding or uh limbs hanging off in ways novel and new?"

Ruth shook her head. Slow. "I don't u-understand-what happened?"

"You were about to bang, a little bit of the foreplay got too rough, you screamed for help, and you thought holy shit my boytoy's like something outta the X Men but without the hot-ass little leather suits and then help arrived."

"I don't – I don't even know his name," said Ruth, "H-he's not my b-boytoy. I – we just met."

Faith raised an eyebrow, amused. "Look at you, all dressed up in –" and then she paused. Something – the words – a major sense of déjà vu. It was … odd. She decided to finish this encounter. "He's gonna poof."

"W-what?"

"He's an Imyak. I – step back a second Ruth. Step back from the bed."

The girl stared at her and then squealed and recoiled from the flames which suddenly rose from the bed. "Oh my god we're gonna die!" she cried, wheeling towards the door.

Faith beat her to it and grabbed her, pulling her back and pushing her against the wall. She pressed her hand against Ruth's mouth. "Shut up. Look." Twisting her to face the bed, the two of them watched the body flame for a long retina-searing moment before it suddenly disappeared into nothingness.

"Holy shit …" murmured Ruth, "Oh my god – what the hell?"

"That's my life," said Faith. "Right there. The crazy shit. And you're alive and you're not dead and you're also not seeming catatonic anymore so I'll take that as a win."

Ruth looked at her as if she was seeing her for the first time. "Get out!" she gasped, "You're a – f-fucking freak!"

"Yeah," said Faith darkly, "Freak. I aint heard that before. There's gratitude for you." She fixed the girl with a long cool stare as she walked out the room and tossed a few contemptuous words behind her as she left. "Next time I let you die."

"Next time?"

Faith let the darkness envelop her and lifted her eyes up to the stars. "There's always a next time," she said, half to herself, half to nothing, and somehow something stuck inside her and she felt herself start to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

"Love," said Xander, "Love changes everything."

"It's a song."

"Kinda not the angle I was going for but the metaphor can work."

"It's a song," said Buffy and then added the word "Doof," for good measure.

"I miss her," replied Xander.

"Me too." A pause. "Though not for the same reasons as you I hasten to make clear as clear can be."

Xander stared out over the edge of the cliff at the night sky. It was bright. The stars were crystal and clear and sharp. He had come to the edges of the world for his woman and he'd missed her. He'd damn well missed her. The funny thing was he could still feel her presence. Some days he thought he saw her, a flash of dark hair, a movement, and then she disappeared. A fragment of a memory borne on the wind.

"Xander?"

He pulled himself back to the now. "Still here."

"Go get her tiger," said Buffy.

"Do my best boss," he said. He turned the phone off and listened to the silence and wondered what to do now. Alaska. Snow and ice and broken broken memories of people who had pushed this far and the weather had pushed back. He had heard tale of a dark haired Slayer, a woman who had come and cleared the town up, and something had told him this was his woman. So he'd battled North, passing up the chance to be zapped there in a jiffy, pulling on his check shirt and doing a Wolverine.

And then he'd missed her. By a hairsbreadth of a whisper of a second he'd missed her. The sounds of swords, the smell of an Imyak and a girl who'd been saved and then insulted all at once. He knew the signs of his woman at work and he'd missed her. He'd missed her.

The phone vibrated again and he flicked it open. "Reception's good," he said, apropos of nothing.

"I'm a witch," said his favourite little redhead. "Consider it my witchy gift to you."

"Can you get me free cable?"

"Only if you're good." A pause. "Don't distract me."

"Sorry."

"I can track her. Find her for you. I – can - you know – help."

"I don't want you too."

A long pause. He could practically hear her brow furrowing from you. Finally she spoke. "Let me help?"

He pressed the phone tightly to his ear and shook his head.

"It's not a video phone sweetie."

"No," he said, and he began to walk back towards the road where he'd left his car, "I have to do this my way."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I," Xander said. He hung up. Stared at his car. Stared at the woman who was sat on the bonnet of the car, her legs folded beneath her, her head tilted to the side and her eyes flashing with a mixture of undefinable emotions.

"You," he said, disbelievingly, wonderingly, hope flooding his every every sense, "Oh God it's You."

And she smiled and burst out into a peal of wondrous light-bringing laughter. "Me," confirmed the woman he loved, "Me."


	4. Chapter 4

"Me," she said again, and then there was a long pause whilst the two of them stared at each other. It was broken by a comment from her, a comment that dropped icily from her lips: "Dorkwad."

He didn't say anything. Couldn't really speak until he processed what he was seeing. "You," he said, "It's really you."

Cordelia Chase. The first woman he'd ever properly loved. A woman he'd cast magick for and a woman he'd fought for and a woman he'd loved and hated in equal measure. Cordelia Chase. Dead. And standing right before him. It was, somewhat understandably, taking him a while to comprehend the situation.

"Yes. It's me." She slid off the bonnet of the car and sighed elaborately. "Xander, please catch up already?"

"You're dead," he pointed out, "If anything's holding me back from replying, it's kinda that."

"I'm dead. Yes. And you're a moron."

"Wow. Dead and still kinda annoying."

She rolled her eyes at him. "That's rich coming from you, all I'm saying."

"The annoying part or the dead part?"

"The dead part."

"I'm not dead."

"You've really not noticed it have you?" A sudden look of sadness flitted across her face. "Xander, death isn't the coolest thing in the world and if you're not careful, it's gonna be something you're gonna experience sooner than you ought."

He didn't reply immediately. Seemed it was something he should take a moment to consider before responding. "So," he said slowly, "You're telling me that I'm on a Highway to Hell?"

"No. I'm telling you you're going to die unless we do something about it."

"Did I eat an insanity pepper when I wasn't looking?" He screwed his eyes up in confusion. "I don't – Cor – I don't get it. How can I be dying?" He didn't question it. If his life had taught him anything it was always to accept the weird and prove it was wrong later on. Later on when they'd either killed it or waken up from the inevitable aftershock from that "surprisingly handy and rather innocent sounding hand-spirit-heart spell" thingy. Later on was when you questioned things. Later on meant nobody died. "I don't want to die," he said, mildly offended at the suggestion, "I have things to do."

Cordelia stepped towards him and he saw how her feet weren't resting on the floor. She was floating. "Okay, so that's shiny and new."

"Side benefit of the whole death deal," she pointed out and then touched his hand, bringing it up to his forehead, and then holding it against his skin. It was cold. And sticky. Sticky was not a sensation he associated with his forehead. "It's blood," she said, "Xander, you're bleeding."

"Huh," he said. "Huh."

"You don't want to be doing that," said Cordelia. "Bleeding from the head isn't a good thing."

"Yeah I kinda know that." He stared at his hand, feeling a slash of panic scar his insides, "I don't want to bleed! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

"I'm dead." She stared at him with that sardonic, slightly pissed off expression he knew so well. "We did this."

"Then – then – make me undead!"

"You're not dead yet!" she snapped, "My best guess is that you're unconscious."

"Great cos the last I remember was being on the edge of a cliff. And that's totally not going to end up well."

"You're not dead so calm down and stop your freaking," Cordelia fixed him with a razor sharp glare, "But," and she said it very pointedly, "if we have to go over this one more time I will kill you myself."

"Then what's up with this?" he squeaked, "And I'm not freaking out. I'm getting justifiably panicky."

"You're not dead," she said again.

"Stop saying that like it's meant to be comforting!"

"You're not dead," said Cordelia, "My best guess is that you're unconscious and bleeding. This is all in your mind Xander."

"What?" He stared at her. "This is all in my head?"

"Yes," she said, and she grinned, "I'm a Figment of Your Imagination."

"Why am I figmenting you and not trynna call for help?"

"You're unconscious," she said, "Do try to keep up."

Xander gaped at the woman in front in of him and then looked back at his hand and pressed it to his forehead. The stickiness was still there. Dark and repulsively beautiful in the twilight.

"I'm fucked," he said, "That's it. I'm fucked."

"A little bit," she replied, "Yeah. Can't ignore with that. But keep the faith alright?"


	5. Chapter 5

Beer. Her faithful friend. Didn't answer her back, didn't ask of her, all it wanted was to be drunk, savoured and enjoyed. So she did. Repeatedly. Problem was that being a Slayer, getting pissed required effort. Her body treated alcohol as a toxin and tried to heal it. She'd never had a hangover. That was a slight plus to the situation.

The downer was moments like right now where the glass emptied and the liquid ran down her throat and nothing gave her even the briefest moment of respite.

"Huh," she said. And then she gasped and let out a noise that in others would have been a fullthroated scream. In Faith it was the tiniest, smallest, controlled little moan. She'd seen too much to react like a noob to the smallest provocation.

"Sorry," said the face in the liquid, "I need to talk to you?"

Faith ignored it and swallowed the contents of the glass. She experienced an all too brief moment of satisfaction before tossing a twenty at the barman and exiting into the streets of Mount Charity. The town was empty. No wonder. It was cold. Fucking Freezing. Fuck Alaska. Fuck this.

She turned and headed towards where she thought the station was. Time to get out of Dodge post-haste. Especially if she was now being Skyped through the beer.

"Faith?"

A shimmer.

She flicked it the bird and kept on walking.

"Faith!" The shimmer kept pace with her, "I totally get your slightly scary angsty I Vant To Be Alone bit but I need to talk with you." Willow's face finally crystallized out of the shimmer, her features sharpening and her eyes taking on the familiar look of a whipped puppy. Faith ignored this. She had plenty of practice.

"I don't need to talk to you," said Faith, "Take the hint. And don't ever appear in my beer. That's bordering on the bizarre."

"Yeah, you're not the one who got swallowed. Faith please – hold on a moment."

"I've got nothing to say," she said, "And I appreciate the irony of that statement right now what with us having what looks like a conversation regardless of me trying to walk the other way. You know I'm trying to have some alone time? You aint helping the brooding."

"It's Xander," replied Willow. "It's about Xander."

Faith paused.

"He's missing."

"And you can't find him?"

"Saying he's missing kinda suggests I can't."

"Right. You _are _off your game recently aren't you? You ever want to think about that?"

Willow looked suddenly angry. Viciously angry. And then, like a summer storm, it passed and she was the familiar woman that Faith knew and loved. Well. Not loved. Liked. Well. Not really liked. More put up with. Yeah. That would do.

"He was trying to find you," said Willow, "I don't know why he was bothering."

"Well we'll just add it to another list of things you don't know," snapped back Faith. She didn't need to justify anything to Willow. Never had. Never would.

Willow took a deep sigh. "I can find you cos you're a Slayer. Usually I can find him. But right now he's either dead, unconscious or someone's holding him captive."

"Right."

"His last location was down by the highway, half a mile out of town. Near the cliffs," continued Willow, "I think it's easy to get to. Please – will you go there? I would but – I – can't. There's a bit of a – a crisis here and I can't get away."

"Can't get away?"

"We're being kettled," said Willow bitterly, "Magick. Keeps you rooted in one spot. I can zap all the frogs into princesses that I want but I can't teleport. Not til I burst this magick. Looks like I pissed somebody off."

"Can't imagine you doing that," replied Faith sweetly.

"Faith, please," said Willow, "Xander. He's in trouble. And you're our nearest operative."

"I'm supposed to care?"

"Yeah." Willow started to fade back into the darkness. "I really hoped you did."

Faith watched her disappear. Oh she cared. She cared a little too much. That had been the reason she'd gone on this escapade. To keep one of the few things she cared about in this life safe. And the idiot had gone and got himself into trouble. Like death-non-defying trouble.

He wasn't dead. That much she knew.

And he wouldn't be dead if she could help it.

Faith closed her eyes and conjured a vision of him in front of her. And then, still with her eyes closed, she began to track him.


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't want to die," he muttered. He was aware that it could come across as kinda defensive but he felt the situation warranted it.

"We all die. Even those of us with sexy vampire lovers die."

"Right." He swallowed. God he hated that guy. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"It comes to us all Xander."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Death. Not the sexy vampire lover."

"Great. Cos I thought I was missing something there."

The wind suddenly howled and the sky shifted but the space between them remained still. Not a hair on either head shifted.

Xander shivered.

"Don't be scared," said Cordelia kindly, "We all die."

"Not me," he said, "Not today."

"Maybe it's your time?" she said.

"No," he said, and saw a small almost imperceptible flicker of something in her eyes, "Not yet. I have to do something." He folded his hands and tried to ignore the feel of his blood running through his fingertips. "Unless you turn into Dumbledore, there's no guarantee I'm getting back to the land of the living. Which makes me feel this is all up to me somehow."

"I'm not going to turn into anybody," replied Cordelia smoothly. "I'm you."

"No, you're you. If you were me you'd be in the shape of a coyote and singing Ring of Fire." His gaze flicked sideways, to the edge of the road, to the car, to the road and back again. His brain was rapidly computing the landscape and had come to a conclusion that seemed, ironically enough, somewhat plausible. "Wait. This. It's a metaphor? The road? It's life or something? Or the Q Continuum?"

Cordelia stared at him.

"Do we have to play chess?"

She stared at him a little more.

"Do you even know what chess is?"

"Remember that whole I will kill you if you keep on babbling threat? Totally still applying to the situation."

"But you can't kill me! You're me! That's me-icide!" He glared at her. "Look. I made you happen for a reason. So I can make you go away." Xander scrunched his eyes together, clenched his fists and made an expression reminiscent of a toddler having troubles on the toilet.

"You're doing your sex face."

"I am not!"

"Oh you are. I remember that pretty well."

"Ooookay, so I'm starting to lose the track of what's real and what's made up."

"None of it's real," she said, "Apart from the blood. That's real. And your moronic nature. Also real."

"I really hate myself." He gave up. Folded his legs and sat down on the tarmac. Which promptly folded up and swallowed him whole. As he fell, his arms and legs wildly toddler-flailing, he caught a last glance of Cordelia.

Her face was round and seraphic, framed against the darkness by the grey hole where he had once sat. "See you on the other side Alice!"

As he tumbled further and further down and saw the world above him close into darkness, Xander Harris let out a very choice swear word.


	7. Chapter 7

He landed sooner than he expected. To be frank, the landing came with undecent eagerness. Like the landing had got up before the alarm clock and was doing that obnoxious awake thing and he was just stumbling, blearily-eyed, out of bed.

He also landed with more ease than he had expected. To be frank, he'd expected to see his face get intimately acquainted with the ground.

"Wait," he said, pulling himself slowly upright and staring upwards at the rapidly closing shaft, "Why am I talking about franks?"

"You're not talking," said Cordelia, appearing out of the nothing.

He allowed his heart rate to return to the level of a normal being rather than a rabid rabbit, and then let it calm down some more. "You're here."

"Yes."

"But you were up there."

"Yes."

"And now you're down here."

"Yes."

"You can imagine why I'm having some difficulty dealing with this."

"No."

"Well that's uncalled for."

"I'm part of you," she said, and clicked her fingers together. Suddenly the wall of the shaft split and the walls parted. "I'm everywhere you go." He could see light in the distance. From below the ground. Right. He hated Bizarro Worlds at times.

"You're part of me."

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Why is this proving so difficult for you to come to terms with?"

"I'm kinda thinking about having sex with you. In fact I've been thinking about it ever since we ever since you appeared so kinda from when my psyche decided to split into two and hector me in the shape of you and I know you're dead which is gross and sad don't get me wrong but you're dead and a part of me and all that makes it even more gross but you're still way hot and I'm done now and we shall never speak of this again."

She stared at him. Or he stared at himself. Either way it was disturbing.

Cordelia nodded. "Deal," and then she gestured at the crack in the shaft. "Mind out for the curtains."

"Curtains," said Xander, as red velvet curtains quietly appeared in front of him, "Brilliant. I'm going to bleed to death in the middle of Moulin Rouge."

"Shut up and walk already."

"I got the bitch part of you down," he replied, moving cautiously through the curtains. "If I end up in Narnia, I'll be pissed."

"It's not Narnia. You know exactly what this is." Cordelia slid past him and hovered delicately in the middle of the street. "You always go back to the beginning."

"Sunnydale. Right. Cos I'm not dying enough, ya take me back to the place that tried to kill me?" A skateboard materialized beside his feet. "And you try to kill me some more?"

"I found it hot," said Cordelia with a small smile, "I never told you but I did."

"The skateboarding?" He preened himself. "Well I can try it again if you like. Wait, is this you telling me this or is it me telling me this?"

"I stopped caring a long time ago if I'm honest," Cordelia said. She shrugged and kicked a can down the road. It echoed loud and long. "Like you. You don't care. You don't care about anything anymore."

"That's … not … true." A wave of dizziness struck him and he almost lost his footing. The world suddenly seemed to curl in on him and he gasped for air. "I care!" he cried, "I care! It's why I'm here!"

"You don't," said Cordelia serenely, "You don't care at all and that's why you're gonna die."

"STOP IT!" He clutched at his brow and then screamed as the blood gushed again into his palm, staining the road, seeping through his fingers and running down his face. "GOD STOP IT I CARE I CARE I CARE."

"No you don't. Not about what matters."

"WHAT MATTERS TELL ME PLEASE GOD I DON'T WANT TO DIE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU MEAN-"

"Yourself," she said and laughed at the glorious stupidity of it all, "You don't care about yourself and that's why you're gonna die."


	8. Chapter 8

He blinked and the world changed. He blinked again and it shadow-shifted into something new. But this was not new. It was old. It was very old.

On the plus point though he was still alive. As for the negative points he didn't even really wish to start calculating those.

"I don't like you as my spirit guide," he muttered, pulling himself shakily up from the floor and glaring at Cordelia. "Next time I have a fit and think I'm about to die could you come with the sequitur and not the non?"

"Noted," Cordelia said. Breezy. Bright. Cheerful. As if she'd not just pulled him back to the school which had tried to kill him for all those years. The sun was shining and the grass was gleaming and he finally realized that he'd never once understood the point of algebra.

People seeped into the space around them and took shape and colour and then, suddenly, as easy as breathing, the two of them were surrounded by a world. A memory of what was. Of what had been. "Wait," said Xander, "I know this. They can't see us right. Are we ghosts?"

And then the skateboard bubbled back into existence by his feet. He stared at it.

"Get on." Cordelia gestured at it. "Get on."

"This doesn't end well."

"Get on it!" She snapped her fingers. Xander found himself riding the skateboard down the side of the road. He bent his legs, desperately trying to seek the fragments of balance he knew he once possessed, skipped it up onto the pavement and then with sweet beautiful inevitability hit the handrail that led up the small flight of steps towards the school.

Cordelia leant over the top of him. "Just so you know, I saw that. Never told you but I did. I kinda think that Jon Bradford is sweet talking me right about now but I still see you. Outta the corner of my eye I see you humiliate yourself like always. And yes, I mean Jon B the footballer. The star quarterback and the cheerleader. A perfect match." She stared dreamily into the distance. "I'm hot by the way. Have I said that? I really like what I'm wearing. That skirt. God I hated it but I never really realize how much it slimmed my ass. Isn't it funny? I mean, you don't notice this kinda thing until you look at yourself you know?" She glanced at him. "And you're not gonna respond? I mean, I gave you a prime opening right there?"

He didn't speak. Couldn't speak. All he could do was stare into the face of a girl who'd changed his life.

Willow. Slender, shy and high-stepping over his prone form. She looked kinda worried. That was bad. He didn't want to make her worried. He didn't want to cause her any pain. He just wanted to hold her and apologise for the future. But that could never happen. Prime Directive. He knew his rules of time-travel. Or whatever sort of travel this was.

"I'm okay," he said brightly, "I feel good."

Willow grinned at him and he felt a lost feeling re-emerge. Comfort. Happiness. Confidence.

"Willow!" he said, ignoring Cordelia as she mimicked him, her mouth moving in parallel to his, "You're so very much the person I wanted to see." Oh she was. He'd forgotten just how young she looked. How young they'd both been. The innocence. The memories. This is what they'd once been; just kids, friends and occasional lovers. The life he'd once lived was right in front of him and god forbid but he wanted it back.


	9. Chapter 9

`Faith finally opened her eyes and realized she was at the top of a hill. A hill on the edge of forever, the night air crisp and clear and revealing the lights of the town she was rapidly leaving behind. She was heading back into the darkness.

Perfect. She could handle a bit of the old darkness any day.

Slipping into a slow and steady jog, she cut her way unerringly along the ridge of the hill and towards where she thought Xander was. Or might be. Or might come by in the near future. Damn thing was she could work on instinct just fine but she could never fully understand it. Her instinct right now was pulling her up towards a road so she took it, slip-sliding her way down through the undergrowth and embracing the satisfaction of her body moving in perfect synchrony. She sometimes forgot just how much she enjoyed it. Not the killing. Not the stake through the heart and the poof of the sunlight. How much she loved being a Slayer. Now. Now they'd given the power back. Being part of something so great, so massive, that she couldn't know it, couldn't see it, but she could feel it in moments like this; it blew her mind. To run. To move. To lose herself in the powerful joy of being a Slayer.

It was intoxicating.

_Stop _whispered a voice in her ear and she missed a stride, tumbling down onto her knees before rolling over, twisting herself to face it.

Nothing. A whole cavalcade of nothing.

_Look._

She looked. Didn't expect to find much. Voices in her head never led to much of nothing. But she looked. Back up the hill, back towards the darkness and there was a shadow, a shift in the light, and she knew as much as she'd ever known something that she was being followed.

Didn't give it away though. Simply swore, kicked the crap out of some innocent looking plant, and kept on moving down the hill. She changed her path though. Didn't head straight towards the point where her instinct wanted her to go, started to angle downwards, a little bit diagonal and then slowly but surely up onto the road, her feet pounding tarmac and her body listening, listening, listening.

It kept pace.

So she drifted quietly towards the side of the road and then, when the time was right, dropped her shoulder and charged the son of a bitch down. She impacted into something and the two of them rolled together and Faith felt her elbows scrape along the side of the road.

"You didn't have to do that," chided the voice, so – so god damn familiar. Faith stared. Beckoned with her hand. "Out here," she said, "Where I can see you. Out of the shadows." She stepped back onto the road, turning to face the darkness, "Out."

"Out damned spot!" laughed the – the person? A woman? Yes. Female. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself. You sounded so Lady Macbeth."

Oh God, thought Faith, please God no. "Gigi?" she said, "Or the First Evil? Let me know which one y'are so I can deal."

Genevieve "Gigi" Savidge. Lady Genevieve Savidge. The woman she'd killed. A Slayer. A friend. Crap. Faith suddenly knew with a deep dark certainty that something had gone horribly wrong with her rescue mission. She wasn't in Kansas anymore.

"I'm neither," said Gigi, hitching up her skirts as she clambered back up onto the road. "Couldn't help me could you? Never could handle a petticoat." Faith didn't move. Bitch could run in a dress, bitch could take five steps in it without her help.

Gigi shrugged a little as she rearranged her dress. "No skin off my nose colonial."

Faith shrugged right the hell back. Bitch could throw all the shade she wanted. She could take it. Could take it and throw it back fivefold. "You're dead. I don't really care what the dead think."

"Oh you don't?" Gigi looked intrigued. "Really? Then tell me something Killer," and she turned slowly, unlacing her top, letting it roll down over her soft pale white skin, and then she let it drop and stood there, half-naked, with a hole across her body, a hole which was marked by the soft dull sheen of an axe blade, "Tell me what you make of this." She paused, tilting her head over her should to witness Faith's reaction, "Tell me why I can't stop it bleeding."

"You can't stop it bleeding," said Faith very slowly and deliberately, "because you're an inbred bitch?" She bit her lip and pretended to think. "Or maybe because the Gigi I knew is dead and buried?" A little stubborn expression passed her face. "Or maybe because I've done this so long I can't get played like a noob? There's enough guilt in my head to serve a world. I don't need no more. I don't want no more. This – whatever it is – it ends now. "

And she launched herself at the thing that wore Gigi's face.


	10. Chapter 10

Xander stared at Cordelia. "Your face," he said, calm, quiet, "I guess it's not meant to do that?"

A slash of red erupted in front of him and suddenly Cordelia's face was torn in two. She gasped, clutching at the wound before spinning away, turning her back on Xander. "It's not a problem. I – at least I'm not going to be dying like yourself so very soon." She screamed and suddenly he saw a flash of something – a sword – was it a sword – flare into vision.

"No," he said, seeing it all, seeing it all and starting to grasp the situation. God he was the king of comprehending the weird. "No, I think we're both kinda screwed." Almost on reflex he found his hand running over his wound and he touched the soft soft scabbing that spoke of a clot and healing. "Actually scratch that. I seem to be doing alright. You on the other hand are most certainly not."

Cordelia turned back to him. A look of fury cut across her face and she snarled at him. "Bleed."

His head wound ripped open and dizziness clouded his vision. He had to stop himself from vomiting as his blood – ohgodohgod – ran down the side of his face. And then, as clear as day, he heard a voice. _Stop._

_Look._

He stopped. For the hell of it he decided to look as well. Cordelia had her hand on her forehead and her body was – shaking? He stared. She flickered out of focus for a small tangible second before reappearing. Something was happening here. Like – her attention was elsewhere. He watched a little longer and saw her whole body flinch with the – the impact of something. Like – like she was being attacked.

Attacked was good.

Attacked was very good.

He closed his eyes. A familiar feeling of calm swept over him. The calm of a warrior facing battle. He had fought alone. He had fought alone and won. This was all this was. Just another battle to win. It was always good when his voices in the head all pulled the same way.

Ignoring the stains of blood underneath his fingernails, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off.

"I don't need to see that," spat Cordelia as he stripped. "I'm dead. Don't depress me any further."

He wrapped his shirt around his head, padding the wound carefully and knotting the sleeves together. It wasn't perfect. But it'd do. "You're not dead," he said calmly, "I don't know what you are but you're not Cordelia. I want you out of my face. Or her face. Whatever."

"Took you long enough," replied Cordelia. She raised an eyebrow and then bent, doubled over as a shudder wracked her body.

He smiled at her and although he didn't know it he looked terrifying. It was the smile of a man who knew he wouldn't lose. Couldn't lose.

"Take it off. I've seen this all before. I've been played by people better than you. I admit you got me frightened. Congratulations." His face shifted into a rock solid look of furious anger. "It ends now. I have no superpowers. I have no magicky goodness. I don't even have a weapon. But as I have ever believed in anything I believe in the fact that I will beat you down and come out of this." He wiped his hand across his mouth, unknowingly smearing his blood across his skin, marking - no – branding himself. "I Will Live," he said slowly, "I Will Live."

It was then that the world began to melt. The colour slowly seeped out of the trees and the people and the sky and the flowers and he stood there, right in the centre of it, the eye of the storm, and he very deliberately took a long condescending look at the Cordelia-thing before closing his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

Gigi folded under Faith's cool persistence. Literally. She took a thunderous kick to her stomach and bent backwards, crumbling softly into the dirt.

Faith didn't do a thing. Just stood there and flexed her knuckles reflectively. "You're getting in my way," she said, "I'm late."

"For a very important date?"

"We're on a break," replied Faith.

"Well you get what you need."

"No," said Faith, "I need him to be alive and healthy and I'd not say no to wealthy and you are getting in the way of me doing any of those things. What Do You Want?"

"I want you to die. To join me."

"Never gonna happen."

"Slayers deal in death every day. You're a killer. Death stalks your every footstep. Everywhere you go, people die. You can't tell me you don't want it." Gigi pulled herself upwards, dusting the dirt off her dress. "I know that I wanted it. To stop the – to stop wondering how it feels. I wanted to feel it myself. I know you. My Slayer." A flush burnt her cheeks and she chastely cast her eyes to the floor. "My sister. I could do this for you. I want to repay the favour. I want to stop your pain. I know how much it hurts."

"I don't want to die," said Faith. "How many times have I got to tell people this? I'm the Slayer that doesn't like dying. I mean Buff – she's got some kinda fixation with it but me – I'm one for the-"

"-Buffy." Gigi licked her lips. "She's always there. Isn't she? In your heart. She's the one you want to impress the most. To feel her skin on yours, her arm around you, your sister, your love, your heart-knower."

Faith was silent. Trying to regain her control of the conversation.

Gigi smiled. "I see you understand me."

"So what if I do?" She jutted her chin out, stubborn and contrary as always. "I love. I fight. I slay. And right now I kinda want to do the last thing on you, whatever you are."

"I loved you." A look of sly pleasure crossed Gigi's face. "All about the fire and the lust between your legs for another. You're so - primal. I wanted that. That – that power. And look where it got me. All dead and dessicating in the woods." Gigi circled Faith, her voice low and snake-charming, "Come with me. My Faith. My warrior woman. Let me take you down below. To a world where you'll never have to worry again. It'll just hurt for a mere moment."

Faith locked eyes with her. "Okay," she said, her voice shaking only slightly as she bowed to the darkness, "Do it."

The Gigi-creature paused, obviously surprised. And then she grinned with sudden pleasure. "My Faith," she murmured, creeping closer, keeping Faith in her sights like a predator spying prey, "It will just hurt for a second."

"Do it," whispered Faith, staring straight ahead, her eyes closed. She could feel the hot breath of Gigi on her neck.

Gigi produced a blade and rested it, silver-flat down on Faith's skin, before pulling it away. "Are you ready?" whispered the dead Slayer, "Are you ready?"

Faith nodded.

The blade whistled towards her neck.

"Oh," said Gigi, as Faith twisted upwards, grasped her wrist and turned the blade onto her, all in a quicksilver lightening fast motion, and the dead Slayer felt the sword cross her face once and then twice and then Faith, she lived, she lived, she moved, so smoothly, so condescendingly, her hand tight around the sword, the Slayer lived, the Slayer lived and stood there and Faith was looking at her and Gigi was looking back at her and then Faith moved again with the sword, a blink and then Faith twisted the sword in the air and said one word, "Bleed," said the Slayer Who Lived and she took the Gigi-shape and turned her and very neatly, very calmly, very swiftly span the sword cleanly through the Gigi-shape's neck.

"I'm a Slayer," said Faith, "Not a Killer. Death comes to us all. And I'm sorry it came to you sooner than most."

Clean. For the first time in a long long while she felt clean. Slaying was total therapy.

The Gigi shape began to melt; her colours seeping into the ground. Faith glanced around and saw that the world was joining in, the stars were running white down to the ground and the moon was golden seeping into the soil and she was right there, right there in the centre of a melting pot of colour.

It was glorious.


	12. Chapter 12

The world ended. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with the smallest of sighs.

Faith watched it go. It felt as if she was at the bottom of a waterfall and suddenly the river had ran dry. The sky ran clear and the world re-assembled around her in the shape of a memory. A memory that rapidly became fact as all her senses told her she was back in the real world.

"So," she said, cat-stretching upwards and feeling wonderfully relaxed, "Where do we go from here?" There was a soft heat inside her body. A glow that made her think of cats and fires and for some weird reason mulled wine. She wasn't even sure what the hell a mull was but she wanted some. Or it. Whatever.

It was good. It was very very good. It was like Christmas and technicolour films and it was like falling in love.

Love.

She smiled softly at the memory of him; his lips on hers, his teeth edging on her ear and the warmth of their bodies intertwined as one. His breath was her breath and her movements were his.

She missed him. And now, for the first time in a long long time, she wanted him back. It wasn't – it wasn't lust. It was – more than that. Like she wasn't whole without him. Like she'd only just realized she was missing an arm.

There was a car, a shape in the corner of her eye. It was parked awkwardly; as if the driver had left. Cars left like that usually meant that there was some sort of unlockage and unlockage meant that she could totally boost the car without feeling any sort of that annoying guilt she now tended to feel in such situations. Frankly the driver was asking for it.

He opened his eye. His bandage wasn't raspberry-stained with his blood anymore. He was kinda disappointed that his makeshift bandage hadn't turned into a raspberry beret but that was a cross he was willing to bear.

"Well," he said, "That was fun. If the definition of fun means mental torture coupled with a Hannah Montana marathon." He took stock of his surroundings. Nothing wanting to kill him. Always a plus. His car in the distance and an empty road. Also a plus. Meant he could get back to civilization and continue his hunt for his woman.

He walked towards it, his head fixed on the ground as he tried to process what had just happened. Something had been trying to kill him. One day he'd have to publish a guide on Hobbies for the Nasties that Didn't Include Trying to Kill Him. Yeah. Sounded good.

Once he found Faith.

A cough distracted him. So he screamed. It was an understandable reaction. He was after all kinda tense.

"Hey," said a voice he'd dreamt about hearing, had dreamt it murmuring words in his ear, a voice that was so beautifully familiar, a voice he couldn't quite believe he was hearing, "What are you doing here?"

"I," he said, "Am here for the waters." Suave. Be cool. Don't fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Don't beg for her to make you whole again.

"There's no waters," replied Faith. A confused expression rested on her face, "Middle of the countryside dude. I guess there's scrub or something and can't you slice a cactus in two or something? Are there even cactuses up here? Do they grow this far North? What the hell are you on about waters for anyway? Who'd come to the back of bleeding beyond for the Waters? "

"Shut up," said Xander and a small glimmer of amusement cut through the air and broke the tension. The air – the air in between them – seemed to sizzle with a sudden electricity and the two of them took an awkward, coltish step towards each other.

She wanted to hold him. So bad. Wanted to feel the rhythm that came with the unity of bodies. Screw the poetry. She wanted to fuck and to rut and to take him there and then and reclaim herself inside him. She wanted to own this wondrous man.

"Missed you," she said, her outer words betraying none of her inner turmoil.

"Yeah," he said, equally cool, equally a wreck inside, "Me too."

"Did you – did you just come back from a trip?"

"Like a journey?"

"No. Like drugs. Like when you get high for the first time and suddenly everything's all oompa-loompa."

He shook his head. "Not like that. But yeah. I did 'trip'. It was – somebody – "

"A woman."

"Trying to kill-"

"-yeah."

They understood each other. Always had. Always would. She had the ability to read him and as for her, she was like an open book to him. All body language and eyes that spoke volumes if only you knew where to look.

"Cordelia. For me. She was a – tried to kill me."

"Wow." She didn't want to tell him about hers. But then, in the same thought, she knew she had to. No more secrets. "Gigi. Was mine."

"All that means to me is a really bad film."

"That's Gigli."

"Or Glitter."

"She was a – a Slayer. I killed her. One of – she was – "

"It's okay," he whispered, hurting to see her like this. "It's okay. Faith. We – we faced our demons and we won. We're back." He looked quietly up at her and the hope and love in his gaze made her feel that maybe she'd found her missing part.

"Missed you," she said again, and she stepped into him, fitting into him, and she felt him begin to cry and that made her start to cry, "I missed you," she said again and the two of them dropped to the ground, kneeling, their bodies locked together, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her and said, "Don't ever go," and she nodded and ran her hand down his spine, feeling his shape, embracing his warmth and then she rested her hand on him and pressed her lips against his, the two of them riding each other, his hand released his grip and span down her thigh and she guided it towards her sex, unbuttoning her jeans and forcing his hand into her, feeling his fingers touch her and she arched her back, moving instinctively with a rhythm that came so naturally and felt so right and she leant forward, tossing her hair slightly, allowing her skin to press onto his, releasing her grip on his hand and racing to his face and grabbing it, framing it, her eyes locked onto him, drinking him in and then she took him, pressed her lips to his and claimed him as her own.


End file.
